"I will, then, be a toad." — Stephen Crane

Primary Menu

Apostasy

Apostasy’s
An empty tree where nothing
Hangs but human chains. A race
Defined by all its crimes, fooled
By grace, a hollow taste of
Metal tears, the rust of
Years congealed in hope, a swinging
Rope. Soap in mouth, headed
South, planetary rout from (toward)
Who knows what. The end is near.
Or is it here?